Pat looked down into her glass. “He did hear,” she said quietly.
“He heard what I said about his laugh. I feel terrible.”
The barman reached over and touched her lightly on the wrist.
“You shouldn’t. That was nothing. You should hear some of the things that are said in this place. Horrible things. Cruel things.
What you said was nothing.”
Pat looked at him. “But he was upset. He said that’s how people are in this city.”
“He’s a bit marginal if you ask me,” said the barman. “I see all types in this job, and I know. He’s a cop, by the way. Did you know that?”
“Yes, I did. But how did you know? Had you met him before?”
The barman winked at her. “I can tell a mile off. And it’s not a good idea to get too involved with cops. They can be difficult.”
He paused. “Anyway, you see that guy at the end there, the one in the cord jacket? He’s been wanting to talk to you all evening.
But take my advice, don’t.”
Pat glanced at the young man, who had remained at his place further down the bar throughout her ill-fated encounter with Chris.
120
“Why?” asked Pat.
“Just don’t,” said the barman. “I know. Just don’t.”
The barman turned away. He had customers to deal with and Pat, left by herself, finished the last of her drink, and walked out of the wine bar. She noticed that the young man in the cord jacket watched her as she left, but she kept her eyes on the door and did not glance in his direction. It was fine outside, and night was just beginning to fall. She looked up at the sky, which was clear. It was still blue, but only just, and in minutes would shade into darkness.
“Anything?” asked Irene, making for the pot of coffee on the edge of the Aga.
“Practically nothing. A new biography of James the Sixth,”
said Stuart. “It’s getting a good review here from somebody or other.”
Irene opened the kitchen blind and looked out onto Scotland Street.
JAMIE SEXT: James VI of Scotland, James I of England (1566-1625), son of Mary Queen of Scots. Became the infant King of Scotland on the forced abdication of his mother in 1567. When Elizabeth of England died in 1603, he became King of England, being the great-grandson of James IV’s English wife, Margaret Tudor.
“I have no idea,” she said, “no idea at all why people continue to write royal biographies. They go on and on. Even about the Duke of Windsor, about whom there was nothing to be said at all, other than to make a diagnosis.”
Stuart lowered the paper. “Some of these kings were influential,” he said. “They ran things then.”
“That’s not what history is about,” snapped Irene. “History is about ordinary people. How they lived. What they ate. That sort of thing.”
Stuart looked down at the review. “And ideas,” he said, mildly.
“History is about ideas. And monarchs tended to have some influence in that direction. Take Jamie Sext, for example. He had ideas on language. He was quite enlightened. He would have enjoyed the newspapers, if they had been around.”
Irene stared at him. “Which newspaper?” she asked. But he did not answer, and she continued: “What a peculiar thing to say!”
“No,” said Stuart. “Not really. In fact, it’s quite interesting to speculate what people would have read if these papers had existed.
Queen Victoria, for example, read
“The
They both laughed. This was undoubtedly very funny.
“And was she amused by
“No,” said Irene. “She was not.”
Irene joined him at the table.
“Enough levity,” she said. “We must talk about Bertie. We have to do something. I can’t face going back to that awful Macfadzean woman. So Bertie’s going to have to go elsewhere.”
“Couldn’t he wait?” asked Stuart. “He knows a great deal as it is. Couldn’t we give him a gap year?”
